


Meet the brothers

by IAmNotOneOfThem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bondock, Crossover, M/M, Prompts turned into a FF, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotOneOfThem/pseuds/IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years ago, Q simply disappeared out of Sherlock's and Mycroft's life, gone without a simple trace. But now they found him and James is in for a meeting with the family of his partner...</p><p>
  <i>(Prompts from tumblr turned into a fanfiction!)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Q-who?

**Author's Note:**

> Since I have been asked to turn two prompts I got into a fanfiction, here it is!

_“Double-oh-seven, report. What is going on, you haven’t moved from the spot since four minutes. I repeat, double-oh-seven, tell me what the fuck you are doing or I’ll let you sleep on the couch for more than a week.”_

James sighed, but didn’t move any other muscle of his face, unblinkingly staring into the man’s eyes in front of him.

He knew that he probably should have answered Q, to tell him that he was doing fine and that nothing was going on, only two men who were keeping him from leaving the flat - he had only put on a new, not-torn apart suit without blood on it - and go to MI6 to report about the mission he just came home from.

Home as in Q’s and his flat, and home as in what the bloody hell were those strangers doing here, how did they even manage to get inside?.

“Matching DNA, do keep up”, the blackhaired-one huffed in annoyance, turning around in a swirl of his coat and beginning to move around the flat, picking up the cup of tea Q has left on the table this morning, sniffing on it. “Earl Grey. John, he must have been here.”

He turned to Bond, approaching him with quick steps and staring at him coldly. “Where is my brother.”

“Brother? I don’t know what you-“

_“Please tell me that the man I’m seeing over the security camera isn’t accompanied by a short, blond-haired man with a jumper on and with a gun hidden underneath his jacket.”_

For a moment, there was silence in the room. The black-haired man stared at Bond, his ear to be precise, Bond at the man behind the one in the coat and said at the former.

_“Bond, that’s my brother. What is he doing there…?”_

Within a second, James had taken out his gun, barrel pressed against the forehead of Q’s brother, another one he had within his reach aiming for the blonde’s forehead, the man just having been about to pull his own gun in surprise.

Soldier, from the way he immediately lifted his hands, face cold and concentrated, fascinating.

Q’s brother had a soldier-companion, whatever that meant. He himself couldn’t be that dangerous, far too skinny to be a challenge, just like Q.

He blinked once. Exactly like Q.

He really was his brother, elder obviously.

“Care to tell me how your brother managed to find out where you live?”, James asked into his earpiece, ignoring how Q’s brother pursed his lips in something close to anger, eyebrows narrowed, teeth gritted, “And please, before he tries and bites me.”

Q sighed over the earpiece, noise of something being put away and a chair being dragged across the floor audible. James frowned.

“I can deal with the situation on my own, Q, you don’t have to come here.”

_“I do. Because if Sherlock is here, then Mycroft soon will follow, and believe me, you do not want to deal with both alone. I’m on my way. Tell Sherlock not to deduce your past, we wouldn’t want you dead.”_

With that, the connection broke, and Bond was left alone with the two strangers, one who probably was called Sherlock, and the soldier.

“Well, gentlemen, I’d like to know how you found this address, because it is supposed to be protected and secure.”

Sherlock, apparently, huffed, a very arrogant and annoyed noise, James realised. “Mycroft found it. Why did you call him Q, his name does not start with Q, and there is no reason to unless…”

Sherlock frowned, something sparkling in his eyes, something mad and crazy. James took a careful step backwards, slowly lowering his guns. No need to shoot Q’s family, as annoying as the man already was.

“Unless… of course, that’s why he disappeared. Because he’s working for MI6 now, doesn’t he? That does explain why he called you double-oh-seven, and why you have an earpiece, standart radio version.” Sherlock glared at James, tried to burn holes into his head. “My brother is the Quartermaster. Of course.”

James turned around and walked into the kitchen, taking out a bottle of scotch. He was too sober for a conversation like this.


	2. Another one?

“Quartermaster, of course, that is typical for him. Always trying to impress, but trying to stay in the shadows at the same time”, the mad man - as James had decided to call him - muttered as he paced through the living room, now and then picking something up and saying something.

Usually along the lines of Favourite kind of decoration, has not changed, or Indicates a paranoia developed over the years, nail marks on the gun as if held too strongly and so on.

James usually never listened to the ranting of a mad man, but everything the man said was true. Every tiny detail over his life, everything James had thought was something only he knew, this man knew it all or saw it by glancing at the furniture, whoever that worked.

Sipping on his scotch, right from the bottle, James kept a hand on his gun, not trusting the black-haired man to not to anything, and the soldier still was a potential danger to him.

“So you’re MI6?”, said asked as Sherlock, what an odd name, began glancing under the rug, lips constantly moving, “I mean, if you have a code name and all…”

“Bond”, James offered a smirk, the one which usually made ladies swoon, but he was no fool and knew it wouldn’t work here, he did not want it to, “James Bond. Royal Navy Commander, now agent for Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

The tinier man only blinked once, obviously not impressed.

“Doctor John Watson, Captain, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

Bond nodded, looking the man over, cane, limp, obviously wounded in the field. “Afghanistan?”

Watson nodded. “Yes, got shot in the shoulder.”

James smirked, the expression forced as he remembered Skyfall and his own wound, how it still sometimes burnt as if to haunt and mock him.

Someone knocked on the door - not Q, Bond thought and reached out to his gun - but Watson shook his head. “Don’t try. He’ll only deduce and that’s annoying.”

Before James had the chance to ask what was going on, Sherlock opened a door and a man with dark, brownish hair entered, swinging his brolly as his sharp eyes - like Q’s and Sherlock’s, James noticed - roamed over the living room, and then stopped at James.

He radiated with danger, and James made sure to keep his gun within reach as he drank a sip of his scotch, the liquid burning down his throat.

“He indeed lives here”, the man clicked with his tongue, nodding in greeting towards Watson and then staring at Bond with cold, knowing eyes, “Ah, double-oh-agent, how fascinating. It appears that he does share something with us.”

Sherlock huffed, and the man - another brother? - went over to a free armchair, Q’s, to sit down into it, legs crossed, brolly in his hands.

Concealed weapon, James immediately figured, eyebrows narrowed.

“Benjamin is not here yet, I take it?”

Another huff from Sherlock, much more aggressive than the one before. “Q is not here yet. Did you know?”

The man shook his head. “No, otherwise I would have informed you. This is a new development for me as well as it is for you, Sherlock.” He turned his head towards James, smile as faked as his brolly. “Mycroft Holmes, it’s a pleasure. I’m… Q’s oldest brother.”

Three. There were three of them. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes and Benjamin Holmes.

James fought off the urge to groan and bang his head into a wall, instead only drank from the scotch again.

“Alcoholic.”

“Not a good match for Q, I think.”

“Boys, he’s here, that’s rude.”

“I can decide on my own who’s a good match for me, Mycroft, so kindly fuck off.”

James looked up, directly into a very angry Q’s eyes.

Oh well, it could be funny.


	3. Where's the booze?

James watched in mild amusement as Q simply threw his bag on the ground next to the door, slipped out of his shoes to put them next to former and put his jacket over it.

For someone as neat and obsessed with order and a clean flat, this was like baring his teeth and snarling for a dog. Though Q's current expression easily could have been interpreted as said, because James had never seen him this angry before.

"Did it not occur to any of you that there was a reason I disappeared and each file of mine was put under high protection and security precautions?", Q hissed without any word of introduction, without a single word of _Hello brothers, long time not seen_ or _Oh it's such a joy to see you_ \- whatever a little brother said to his elder ones after not having seen them in apparently a while, James was an only child, how was he supposed to know that?

James leant back on the couch, taking another sip of his scotch. From the corner of his eyes he could see the two other brothers get up, facing Q in unison, trying to stare him down - which did not work as well as it would have usually, but there was something incredibly frightening about the mimics and body postures of Sherlock and brolly-man.

Turning his head slightly, he could see Watson roll his eyes and, in something alike sympathy, raised an eyebrow while shaking his bottle a bit.

Watson nodded and titled his head in a _Thanks_ as James took anther bottle and gave it to the captain, none saying anything to not get screamed at.

Or not to miss anything, in James' case.

"You could have informed us", brolly-man said coldly, brolly tapping on the ground in an annoying rhythm, "There was no need to just completely disappear from my radar and not mention why."

"Off your radar?", Q asked, voice higher than usually - he was pissed off, James realised, considering to warn the two brothers but no, this was interesting and entertaining -, "Do you even listen to yourself? You, of all people, should know that being promoted to my position holds many security meassures I have to follow. Involving **no contact** to family members."

"This is different, Benjamin-"

"It's Q. My name belongs to Her Majesty's Secret Service now, Sherlock!"

"I do not care about your petty little games and titles you are hiding behind", Sherlock took a step towards Q, lowering his head until they were on the same eye level - that must have been an unique childhood, James thought.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?", the other man interrupted as Q narrowed his eyebrows, eyes sparkling in fury and hate and anger, "You just were gone. Without any trace, not showing up on any cameras nor in any reports. Not even my agents could find you."

Agents? James looked at Watson, but he only shook his head and took a large sip, nearly downing a quarter of the bottle at once.

"It's my bloody right to just disappear, I'm twenty-five for god's sake, do you have an idea how annoying you are being?!" Q glared at the eldest Holmes brother as he tapped on the ground again, obviously about to interfere. "No, shut up Mycroft, you let me talk now."

Mycroft, aha. A family of strange names, it seemed.

"This is my life. My job, my decision. I follow the security protocols and precautions and this means no family involved in any of this. And I knew that both of you would still try to interfere and mess up my life, so I did my best to block you out." He bared his teeth, reminding James of a puppy trying to be frightening. "Which did not work. Now I kindly ask of you to get the fuck out of my flat or I will allow James to kill you like he wants to."

As both brothers turned around to James, the agent only lifted his bottle and mouthed _Cheers_ , drinking a bit with a smirk.

"Language, Benjamin", Mycroft tutted, eyebrow raised.

"I'm grown-up, I can curse as much as I fucking want and you can fuck off now!", Q _screamed_ , normally cold and controlled behaviour gone.

He wasn't fond of his family it seemed, and James could fully understand him.

"Now you listen to me, Benjamin", Sherlock said as he leant forward, nose-to-nose with Q, "You have no idea what you are getting into. Not to mention your poor choice in a partner."

"Says the one dating an army doctor with an illegal gun."

"Leave John out of this."

"No, you know what?" Q took out his phone, dialing a number and lifting the phone to his ear. "Someone's missing. Let's get Lestrade over, then it's a party."

Each word was spat out, and while Mycroft tried to make Q stop vocally, Sherlock frowned, glancing at Mycroft.

"You and Lestrade?"

Mycroft sighed. "Yes."

James looked away from the scene, lifting his bottle in a kind of toast towards John who just groaned, downing at least half of the bottle at once.


	4. Wait - There's a third?

So, apparently this whole family was fucked up. This was James' opinion, at least, and from what he could see, it probably was the most accurate observation he had ever done.

There was Mycroft, for one.

Tailored suit, but not of James' liking, a bit taller as Q and Sherlock, and with dyed, ginger hair.

Concealed weapons, had agents, and radiated confidence, intelligence and annoyance - a trait he seemed to share with Q, the smug bastard, glaring like a scolded child at his brothers.

Then there was Sherlock.

Maniac, weird, no filter between his brain and mouth, and apparently someone who liked to point out the obvious and sometimes not obvious, depending on whether he was pissed off or... maniac. He reminded James of Q, when he had to explain some procedures to his minions who were supposed to know them by heart.

And Q.

The baby brother, with hair as weird as Sherlock's, with green eyes in contrast to Mycroft's grey and Sherlock's blue ones, and apparently the same intelligence level. James assumed that Q was more intelligent than the other two, since he was a Quartermaster at that age, while his brother did...

Well, did what, actually?

He had heard the name Sherlock Holmes before, but it hadn't been work-related, so James couldn't remember it. Something stupid, probably.

Like _maniac genius causing havok in London, if found please do not return_.

"There was no need to call Gregory over in the middle of a case, Benjamin", Mycroft dragged James out of his thoughts, because so far Sherlock had argued with Mycroft and Q had been on the phone, but now he heard Q's real name and decided it was about time to listen again, "You are being childish."

Q raised an eyebrow. "Oh, am I? Who broke into **my** flat and now bitches about me not having informed them about **my work**? I am grown-up, why do you feel the need to treat me like a child all over again?"

Mycroft sighed, like one would with a child who was insufferable, and James watched Watson reach out to another bottle, his old empty. At least the cheap beer was of use now, otherwise it would catch dust.

"We worry about you, Benjamin, and it was really immature to just cut us out."

"It was necessary. And work demanded it." Q looked at his eldest brother, raising an eyebrow. "You of all people should understand that, Mycroft."

Mycroft went silent and Sherlock jumped in, huffing in annoyance. "Did you really think we never would have found you?"

"Yes, well, I did. But I obviously was wrong. Because you two can't keep your noses out off someone's business though you better should. I could make you both disappear, and delete you out of every server. Even yours, Mycroft."

"You could not."

"I bloody well could. And you know that, Mycroft. I hacked into your precious boyfriend's servers more than once for work, and not even your men noticed it."

And then, someone knocked. James stood up to go and put some new bottles on the table, because he figured that this man would just be as depressed as Watson, and would need the alcohol, before going and open the door.

"You must be Lestrade", James said, eying the grey-haired man in interest - policeman, gun at his waist, there was a red line going through the brothers' relationships, it seemed, man fighting for the country, and insane geniuses, "Bond, James Bond. Welcome to the insanity."

Lestrade blinked, frowning. He peered over James' shoulder, surprised to see Mycroft there, and Sherlock. And John. And someone he didn't know.

"I've been told something concerning Sherlock and Mycroft is going on here", Lestrade stated, hands on his hips, "What is going on?"

"The three brothers are arguing and Captain Watson and I are getting drunk. Feel free to join us."

"Wait"- Lestrade got out, eyes wide in surprise -"What do you mean with _the **three** brothers_?"

Oh, that was a surprise. Two out of three partners didn't know about the brothers or at least one, this family was either the most amusing or the most annoying and horrible.

"Beer?", James asked, gesturing inside with a smirk.

Lestrade numbly nodded. "There's a third", James heard him mumble as he passed him.

Watson raised his glass in a toast as he saw the grey-haired man, sipping at it with a painful expression. James felt a bit of pity, but was more concerned about Q's health and safety since Sherlock was screaming now, and looked like he was about to commit a crime.


	5. Chapter 5

James couldn't recall how many bottles of beer he, Watson and Lestrade had downed, but by the time the three brothers had stopped screaming at each other like maniacs, he was drunk.

And for an alcoholic who could drink far too much alcohol for a liver to deal with, that must have been something extraordinary.

He thought about asking Q what he would think about that, but his lover was busy shouting at his brothers, so he only turned his head and looked at the two other men downing their _what-did-he-know_ th class of booze. Lestrade's face was red, and he was half-asleep, while Watson shouted at Sherlock and tried to make him shut up.

Words along the lines of "Don't make me wait for three years like you did!" or "God what are you - three?!" fell, were shot and echoed off the walls of the flat like bullets.

James leant back and looked at the ceiling, loosening his tie.

In this state of drunkness, he always was torn between sleeping until he was sober, or grab Q, push him into the bedroom and make him scream his lungs out while thrusting into him mercilessly. The latter always made him feel guilt for hurting Q, but the younger didn't mind it.

Actually, James thought, drinking the last few drops of his scotch like it was cheap beer, feeling a bit of pity - it had been fine scotch, bitter and hard, old and expensive - as he wasted it like that, that was a good idea right now.

Q was angry, James was drunk, the sex would be fabulous and bruising.

He tried to get up and managed after a few moments of struggling, nearly stumbling over Lestrade's legs and Watson's side as he slipped past them, making his way towards the three brothers.

"No, you stay the fuck out off my life."

"You are our brother, and we won't accept this", Mycroft huffed, "We are concerned about your well-being and your attempts to keep us out off your life are childish."

"Childish." Q's expression darkened. "Childish? Are you serious, did **you** just call me-"

"Hate to interrupt", James slurred out, not really doing so but he was polite, "But I'd like to fuck my boyfriend now, if you don't mind. Door's that way."

Mycroft directed a deadly glare at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"They are about to have sex, Myc!", Lestrade shouted from the couch, chuckling loudly, which ended in an ugly snort, "Why don't we do the same? Get to yours, put that tie to a better use!"

The eldest Holmes turned around, but then re-thought and went to Gregory, pulling him along the tie. They were out in two minutes, one wasted by Gregory's stumbling, and laughing. Sherlock followed in the swirl of his coat, Watson limping out behind him.

Q groaned, burying his face in James' neck.

"Thanks god that they are gone."

James said nothing, only moved his hand lower.

"Take your hand off my crotch."

"No." James smirked. "Next time I'll see them, I shoot them. Bedroom, now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Thank you for your lovely reviews, your support and your pleading so I continue this!
> 
> It was fun writing Bondlock, and to get them wasted.
> 
> Muahaha.


End file.
